


The Science of You Makes Me Scream

by Brytanie



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Angst, M/M, Very Minor Character Death, happy ending it's okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-06
Updated: 2013-04-06
Packaged: 2017-12-07 16:36:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/750675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brytanie/pseuds/Brytanie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Combeferre fell in love months ago, handed over some intimate piece of himself to Courfeyrac without questioning it for a moment.  But he was never sure if Courfeyrac returned his feelings, and too scared to ask, he simply enjoyed the other’s company without condition.  They never stopped to define their relationship and Combeferre was content to keep Courfeyrac close for as long as possible. </p><p>Until Courfeyrac confronted him with such avoidance and Combeferre let it all fall apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Science of You Makes Me Scream

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this](http://mybelovedcheshire.tumblr.com/post/46049066442/bicycles-and-tall-windows) graphic made by tumblr user mybelovedcheshire (title taken from graphic text).

Combeferre runs after Courfeyrac with no plan, no thoughts, no words.

He realises soon afterwards that it was a mistake.  But in the moment he can’t think, too caught in his desire to act, and it’s out of character and stupid but –

Combeferre doesn’t want to lose him.

Courfeyrac is almost in the elevator by the time Combeferre catches up to him, and he grabs Courfeyrac’s arm before he can leave.  It’s just like the movies then, when Combeferre is supposed to confess the truth of his feelings and Courfeyrac will fall back into his arms without another word.

But Courfeyrac just stares at him blankly.  “What, Combeferre?”  He says, sounding annoyed, and Combeferre lets go of his arm.

“I’m...I’m sorry.”  Nothing like Combeferre knows he should say, nothing close to how he feels, but it’s the only thought his mind will supply.

“For what?” Courfeyrac reaches out, brushes his fingers against his cheek.  “Nothing’s changed.  You didn’t say anything I didn’t already know.”

Courfeyrac smiles but Combeferre can tell it’s only to placate him.  A feeling slowly rolls through him, an inexorable wave of fear and disappointment and a distinct worry that this may be their end.  _Nothing’s changed,_ he says, but Courfeyrac’s eyes tell the opposite.

“We’re okay,” Courfeyrac says, tone on the precipice of casual.  “We’ll be okay.”

And then he enters the elevator, not meeting Combeferre’s eyes as the closing doors separate them.

Combeferre stays there for a long time, wondering how he could possibly let himself ruin the one thing he cherished above all.

 

The first time they hold hands in public, it happens so naturally that Combeferre doesn’t even realise at first that it is something new.

He’s sitting in the cafe Musain with Joly, flipping through anatomy flashcards over a cup of coffee, when Courfeyrac slides into the seat next to him.

“What exactly am I looking at?”

“An inferior view of the cranial base,” Combeferre murmurs, mentally running through the numbered sections on the diagram.  _Parietal bone, occipital bone, temporal bone..._

“Inferior?”  Courfeyrac plucks the card from his fingers.  “How dare they give you a view of lesser quality?”

Smiling, Combeferre reaches for the card but catches Courfeyrac’s wrist instead.  “It means the view from below.  I’m trying to study, Courfeyrac.”

“Well then, I can help you.”  Courfeyrac beams at him.

As always, when it comes to Courfeyrac, It doesn’t take much to convince him.  “Alright.”  Combeferre lets go of his wrist and slides his hand up to interlace his fingers with Courfeyrac’s. 

“But not this card, it’s creepy.” Courfeyrac rifles through the stack of flash cards with his free hand, pulling out one more suited to his tastes.  “This one.”

Sighing patiently, Combeferre examines the diagram – the left posterior view of the mandible – and is about to start listing off the different parts when Joly loudly clears his throat.

Glancing over, Combeferre sees him staring pointedly at their entwined fingers before flicking his eyes between the two of them. 

Combeferre realises it’s the first time they’ve ever shown affection of this type for each other in public.

Reasoning that it’s not quite the appropriate time to express his joy at the thought, Combeferre tries to keep his expression under control.  Courfeyrac squeezes his hand and says, “Didn’t you know?  We’re sleeping together.”

Watching Joly’s shock play out on his face certainly has its merits, but Combeferre turns to study Courfeyrac instead.  They look at each other for a long moment.  Then Courfeyrac breaks into a dazzling smile and Combeferre fights away the urge to kiss him.

Combeferre looks over to see Joly smiling happily at them.  “Bossuet owes me ten dollars.”

“He bet against us?  I am disappointed.”  Courfeyrac shakes his head disapprovingly.

Joly starts to gather up his notes.  “We can study a bit later, Combeferre, my brain is dead.”  The conspiratorial smile he shares with Courfeyrac seems to say otherwise but Combeferre lets it pass.

Once they are alone at the table, Courfeyrac gives him a stern look.  “If you think I’m going to let you spend our date studying – “

“Of course not.”  Combeferre neatly packs away his flashcards and casually asks, “We’re on a date?”

Kissing him softly on the cheek, Courfeyrac simply says, “Yes.”

Combeferre has never been so ready in his life to procrastinate his studying.

 

Combeferre tells Enjolras about Courfeyrac very early on, before he can even begin to guess Courfeyrac’s intentions with him.  It’s more out of necessity than a desire to brag – Combeferre finds it exceedingly difficult to think logically about Courfeyrac, who manages to both ground and confuse him at the same time. 

“Tell me what’s bothering you, Combeferre,” Enjolras says, regarding him with concern from across the table. 

Combeferre knows Enjolras brought him back to his apartment after the meeting to discuss their plans for the protest, but his thoughts refuse to cooperate.  Sighing, Combeferre embraces the inevitable and tells Enjolras the truth.  “It’s Courfeyrac.”

Enjolras frowns.  “Courfeyrac?”

“Yes,” Combeferre says. “We are...involved.”

“How so?” Enjolras looks at him curiously and Combeferre wonders how he will explain such a thing to Enjolras when Combeferre doesn’t even understand it himself.

“We’re together.” 

“Ah.” Enjolras pauses.  “Romantically?”

“To be honest, I’m not sure.”  Combeferre spends too much time trying to find the right words to define what he has with Courfeyrac.  They never talk about it – simply drift back and forth between good friends and lovers in a pattern that Combeferre has so far failed to discern. 

Enjolras considers him for a long moment.  “You and Courfeyrac.”

“Well, yes.”  Combeferre frowns.  “Is it really that surprising?”

Shrugging, Enjolras says, “A little.  For how long?”

“The whole situation is fairly recent.  Needless to say, it’s been distracting.”

“Courfeyrac seems fine.”

“Yes, I know.”  _And that’s part of the problem,_ Combeferre thinks.  _Courfeyrac has probably done this a thousand times, and yet I can barely stop thinking about it._ “I’m worried that I feel stronger for him than he feels for me.”

Sighing, Enjolras shakes his head.  “As much as I would like to help you, I’m probably not the best person to be giving advice in this area.  Normally I’d direct you to Courfeyrac.”  He smiles.  “I do know that I wouldn’t want you two to ruin your friendship over this.”

“No,” Combeferre agrees.  “He’s much too important to me for that to happen.”

Enjolras reaches over and rests a hand on his.  “I realise it’s hypocritical for me to support you in this when I’ve criticised Marius and Cosette in the past, but...” He shrugs slightly.  “Don’t let it interfere with Les Amis.  Don’t let yourself get hurt.  Don’t hurt him.  Otherwise, I do support you.”  Enjolras squeezes his hand.  “And I believe Courfeyrac likes you far more than you might think.”

“Thank you, Enjolras.”  His support, while a bit surprising, does calm his thoughts – for the moment, at least.  Combeferre can’t quite bury the feeling that he might be getting a little lost in it all.

He can’t quite deny that he wouldn’t trade the feeling for any other.

 

The moment Combeferre returns to his apartment, he knows it was a mistake to let Courfeyrac get in that elevator.

Dejected, exhausted, hurt, and a million other things, Combeferre falls onto his couch and closes his eyes.  It’s the very same spot where Courfeyrac was sitting only moments ago, and Combeferre imagines he can still feel a little of his warmth.

Everything Combeferre did and said wrong whips through his mind – his failure to tell Courfeyrac how he feels, his reluctance to even have that conversation, watching Courfeyrac draw further and further into himself as Combeferre tried desperately to ignore what was right in front of him.

Combeferre knows the truth.  He knows he loves Courfeyrac.  He knows he’s _in_ love with him.  He knows he wants anything that Courfeyrac could possibly give him.

So why can’t he say it?

But Combeferre knows the answer to that as well.

 _I’m sorry, Courfeyrac,_ Combeferre thinks.  _I’m too scared to define something that will tear me apart._

So instead he told Courfeyrac that they were nothing serious.

Combeferre collapses down against the couch and cries.

 

The night Combeferre realises he’s in love with Courfeyrac begins with tragedy.

The phone call comes in the middle of the night, startling him awake.  A million possibilities explaining why fly through Combeferre’s head before he can even answer, but not one of them prepares him for the truth.

_My brother is dead._

The thought chases out all others and Combeferre stumbles out of his apartment, unable to find air.  Tears fall haphazardly down his face as he makes his way out of the building, not stopping for a moment – if he stops he’ll collapse and that will be the end.

 _Just make it to your car,_ Combeferre tells himself.  _Just to your car, just go_

And he does make it, struggles to get the door open before realising it’s locked, drops his keys, fumbles desperately for the right one and then finally he’s sitting in the seat.

 _Just a short drive, pull yourself together._ Combeferre doesn’t think he can do it, will probably get in an accident on the way, and wouldn’t that be a cruel twist of fate?  But the thought of returning to his apartment alone forces Combeferre to wipe away his tears.  It takes a few minutes to get his shuddering breath under control, and even when he does there’s a certain tightness in his lungs that refuses to let air flow easily.

Combeferre’s chest threatens to fall in on itself.  He imagines steel bands wrapping around him, encasing him, holding him together, and it’s too easy to feel the bite of cold metal in his limbs and lungs and heartand somehow it’s enough to get him on the road.

_My brother is dead._

Combeferre grips the steering wheel and blinks rapidly.  He forces himself to pay attention to the rules of the road, even more so than usual.  His left turn signal comes on at precisely the right moment.  He shoulder checks three times before changing lanes.  Not once does he stray more than two kilometres from the speed limit.

Somehow, Combeferre makes it.  He parks in front of Courfeyrac’s apartment, gets out of the car, walks to the door.  He calls up to Courfeyrac’s apartment, _please be home please be home why didn’t I call to check?_ But Courfeyrac does answer, he is home.  “It’s Combeferre, I need to talk to you.”

_My brother is dead._

Courfeyrac buzzes him in and he chooses the stairs over the elevator.  It’s only three flights and he needs to keep moving, _don’t stop or you’ll stop for good._ For some reason, he can’t remember Courfeyrac’s apartment number, why can’t he remember?  He’s been there a thousand times and yet he doesn’t know.  Panic rises in him but then Courfeyrac opens his door.

Combeferre stops in front of him and Courfeyrac stares back with wide eyes. 

Combeferre needs to explain. 

“My...”

It’s all he can force out.

_My brother is dead._

Combeferre falls against the wall and wraps arms around his rib cage, and no imaginary steel bands can help him now.  He has nowhere to go, he’s stopped, he’s collapsing, he’s –

Courfeyrac’s arms encase him, warm and reassuring.  They guide him into Courfeyrac’s apartment and into his bedroom.  Courfeyrac sits him on the bed and keeps close to him, softly wiping away tears and kissing Combeferre’s shoulder.

Courfeyrac says something but Combeferre can’t listen, his own thoughts are too loud.

_My brother-_

“Please, Combeferre, you’re scaring me.” 

There’s real fear there, and Combeferre immediately turns to him, forces himself to smile.  _I’m sorry, I’m fine,_ he’ll say, just needs to get the words out –

“My brother is dead.”

Oh.

Courfeyrac pulls Combeferre in and encloses him within his embrace.  Combeferre buries his face into Courfeyrac’s neck and they fall back against the mattress.  There’s nothing to stop Combeferre now and he sobs, loudly and messily, into Courfeyrac’s t-shirt.

It takes a long moment for Combeferre to realise he’s speaking, that he’s apologising repeatedly, that Courfeyrac is trying to shush him. 

“Sshh, I’m here, it’s okay.  I’m so sorry, Combeferre, it’s okay.  I’m here.”

The words repeat themselves a thousand times and Combeferre forces air through his lungs in time to Courfeyrac’s voice. 

It’s a long time before Combeferre can speak words again.  An even longer time before any of them are meaningful.  His tears, they feel endless.  But Courfeyrac is still there when they do end, when Combeferre is so exhausted but can’t sleep.  And he’s still there when he finally can, when dawn breaks and Combeferre lets himself rest, reassured that he won’t be woken a second time with news of death.

Combeferre thinks it might be inappropriate to fall in love during grief.  Perhaps it’s disrespectful, at the height of sadness, to feel the deepest of love for another person.  But Combeferre can’t control his emotions, can’t stop his love for Courfeyrac anymore than he can stop the pain over his brother’s death.

His brother is dead, yes, but Combeferre thinks he may just survive it if he stays within Courfeyrac’s embrace for long enough.

 

“Where am I?”

Combeferre glances over at the couch, where Courfeyrac lies cocooned in blankets and pillows.  “My apartment.”  He stands up and fills a glass with water before heading over to him.  “How do you feel?”

“Combeferre?  Please tell me that’s you.”  Courfeyrac pulls back the covers a bit and peaks at him, blinking blearily.  “Oh, thank God.”

Smiling, Combeferre sits on the coffee table across from him.  “Here, I brought you some water.  You had quite a bit to drink last night.”

“Yes, thank you, mister med student, I hadn’t realised that.”  Courfeyrac struggles his way into a halfway sitting position and takes the glass of water.  “I’m not leaving your couch for awhile, I hope you know.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to.”

Courfeyrac drains half the glass before handing it back to him, groaning.  “I am never drinking again.”

“I think we both know that’s a lie.”

Flopping back down, Courfeyrac says into the pillow, “I don’t care.”  After a moment, he turns his head to face Combeferre.  “Why did you bring me here and not to my apartment?”

“It seemed easier.”  He shrugs.  “And I thought you might appreciate having someone to take care of you in the morning.”

Courfeyrac flips himself then reaches and grabs Combeferre’s wrist, pulling him across the distance and into an awkward hug.  “Thank you,” Courfeyrac whispers into his neck.

Breath catching in his throat, Combeferre pulls back a little so that he can look Courfeyrac in the eye.  “You don’t need to thank me, Courfeyrac.  Not for this.”

They stay still for a long moment, watching each other.

Then Courfeyrac places a gentle hand on the back of Combeferre’s neck and pulls him down into a kiss.

Combeferre breathes in heavily through his nose and buries a hand into Courfeyrac’s hair, tugging slightly.  He’s been thinking about this for too long to show any proper restraint.  Emotion surges in him and he kisses Courfeyrac fiercely, not caring if it’s too desperate or too reckless or too anything – he simply needs to kiss Courfeyrac.

Swallowing, Combeferre pulls back and collapses onto Courfeyrac’s chest, not quite ready to meet his eyes.

“Wow,” Courfeyrac says, running a hand up and down Combeferre’s back.  “Wow.”

“Yeah.”  Straining up, Combeferre places a gentle kiss against Courfeyrac’s jaw line.  Courfeyrac drops his chin and catches Combeferre’s lips again.  It’s softer this time, but Combeferre’s breath still comes uneven and he pulls away.  “I’m sorry, you probably want to sleep.”

Courfeyrac tightens his arms around him.  Combeferre is at an awkward angle, half kneeling on the floor, half draped across Courfeyrac, but he doesn’t dare move.  “Shut up.  I’d rather kiss you than sleep, I don’t care hung over I am.”  Courfeyrac grins.  “I don’t have the energy for much more, if that’s what you were hoping.”

“No!  Well, I mean...” Combeferre’s cheeks burn and Courfeyrac chuckles, ruffling his hair.  “I just don’t want to bother you.”

“Combeferre.”  Courfeyrac grabs him by the chin, forces Combeferre to meet his eyes.  “You’re not bothering me.  In fact, I’ve wanted this for a long time now.  Unless...” This time it’s Courfeyrac who breaks eye contact.  His hand falls away.  “Unless you don’t want to kiss me.”

“I want to kiss you.”  To prove his point, Combeferre presses a kiss against his lips, his cheek, his forehead, and then back to his lips, lingering there for a long moment.  “I want to kiss you.”

“Come cuddle with me,” Courfeyrac whispers, pulling Combeferre up onto the couch. 

They arrange themselves so that they’re face to face, arms wrapped around each other and legs entangled.  At first Combeferre is in danger of falling off the edge but Courfeyrac clutches his back and holds him close and Combeferre is safe. 

Eventually, Courfeyrac falls asleep, but Combeferre stays awake long after, slowly memorising the peaceful expression on Courfeyrac’s face.

 

Combeferre knows he needs to find Courfeyrac.

After he manages to dry his tears, Combeferre sits up on his couch, staring at the ceiling.  With some of his composure regained, logical thought returns to him.  Combeferre knows that Courfeyrac wants more from him – it was clear in his expression, clear in his actions all along if Combeferre would have allowed himself to hope. 

Combeferre fell in love months ago, handed over some intimate piece of himself to Courfeyrac without questioning it for a moment.  But he was never sure if Courfeyrac returned his feelings, and too scared to ask, he simply enjoyed the other’s company without condition.  They never stopped to define their relationship and Combeferre was content to keep Courfeyrac close for as long as possible. 

Until Courfeyrac confronted him with such avoidance and Combeferre let it all fall apart.

Combeferre knows exactly what he wants to say now, and where were these words an hour ago before Courfeyrac left?

But then there’s a knock at his door, and Courfeyrac, like he somehow knew, is on the other side.

“I love you,” Combeferre says before Courfeyrac can speak.  “I love you an absurd amount.  I don’t exactly understand it, and that scares me.  But you...”  Courfeyrac stares at him, eyes wide and mouth open, and Combeferre feels a little happy that he’s the one to shock Courfeyrac this time.  “I can’t escape you.  I don’t want to.  And I’m sorry for being so stupid about it, but sometimes you make it difficult for me to think logically.  I can’t understand half of what goes on in my head when I’m around you.  Please feel free to stop me at any point you feel is necessary because – !”

Courfeyrac kisses him.

Sighing, Combeferre relaxes into the kiss, arms taking their place around Courfeyrac.

 “I love you,” Courfeyrac murmurs against his lips.  “I wanted to tell you so long ago but I didn’t know how you felt.”

Combeferre jerks back a little.  “How I felt?  God, Courfeyrac, I’ve been in love with you since – “

“Sshh,” Courfeyrac says, winding a hand in his hair and bringing him close again.  “We can talk about how stupid we are later.  Please just kiss me.”

And Combeferre does. 

He doesn’t know if everything will work out perfectly.  He doesn’t know if they won’t fight again.

But he does know that they’ll be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading :)


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